His mother, Lupita, was still crying loudly enough for three neighbors to hear.
His sister Patricia was still recording.
And you were standing behind your locked front door, watching through the security camera with the calm of a woman who had already cried in a thousand small ways before the final insult arrived.
Raúl pressed the phone harder against his ear.
“What do you mean frozen?” he snapped.
That word reached you clearly through the speaker by the porch camera.
Frozen.
Fernanda’s lips parted.
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